


in the cold clear light of day down here, everyone's a monster

by Diaphonie



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, PTSD, a bit of light dystopia, author did zero research, implanted tech, really vague (for now) para-military infrastructure, septiplier but like on the platonic side, vague mercenary AU?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphonie/pseuds/Diaphonie
Summary: Being recruited by the Corps means being matched with a compatible mind, technologically enhanced, and trained in combat to intervene when the regular military just can't cut it. Typically, one partner doesn't survive without the other for very long, but Sean is a special case. He's put back in the system and paired with someone new. But in the meantime, he's becoming someone new as well.





	1. the things that you've got coming will consume you

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in one long, mostly manic sitting while taking a break from a bigger, more in-depth project. It might be terrible, but on the off chance it's not, please let me know. I have a lot more plotted, but I'm not sure it's worth continuing. I know my summary is terrible, so just...bear with me, okay? Comments and Kudos are always appreciated and if you want to find me, I'm on Tumblr under the same name. Thanks for reading!

The polished metal bench beneath Jack still felt cold even after almost an hour of sitting on it. He wondered if that was by design or if his internal temperature was just permanently lowered now. Pulling the fabric of his black hoodie tighter around him, he tried not to imagine why that might be. The hallway was empty and had been for the past fifteen minutes. The only people who had passed were office workers who were clearly busy, but that didn’t stop them from staring. And truthfully, he couldn’t blame them. Were he in their place, he probably would have looked long and hard at the anomaly on display outside the main conference room. 

He could almost hear the thoughts passing through their minds. _How is he even alive? Why is he even here?_ And the worst question by far: _Did he really do it?_ The looping, anxious thoughts made him twitch, his head jerking violently to the side. He brought cold fingertips to rub gently at the place on his throat where a long scar was healing. Somehow the action was less than soothing. His eyes closed tightly and a long, slow breath hissed from between clenched teeth. This wasn’t going to be easy; he’d known that from the start.

A woman opened the door opposite his seat and called his name. “Mr. McLoughlin?” His gaze darted around the sterile hallway. Did she expect anyone else to be waiting here? He nodded and stood, adjusting his clothes nervously. “The panel will see you now,” she said, beckoning him forward, “follow me.” The formality was a bit of a shock to the system, but something in the back of his mind reminded him that this was how it was in the early days, when he’d first been recruited. He’d gotten so used to the relaxed, amiable atmosphere in the barracks that returning to Headquarters felt foreign.

He followed her through the frosted glass door and was faced with six stone-faced corporate types sitting along one side of a long table. There was a single chair opposite and the woman gestured to it. It looked about as comfortable as the bench outside had been, a thought that was confirmed the moment he took a seat. It was important to maintain a certain formality in this space, in front of the people who would ultimately be deciding his future. The urge to fidget was almost overwhelming. Jack didn’t like to be stared at. Appraised. And that’s just what these people were doing now: trying to determine whether he was fit to re-enter the program and possibly be matched with a new partner. 

“Sean,” one man at the table began, “You find yourself back at headquarters for the first time in what? Three years?” Jack nodded and tried to maintain eye contact, no matter how difficult that was. “We know the past nine weeks have been difficult for you. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jack croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, sir. Much better.” ‘Difficult’ was a severe understatement and ‘much better’ an equal exaggeration. His skin crawled and he had a perpetual feeling of looking for something, but couldn’t remember what it might be that he’d lost. But physically he was doing much better. Save for the occasional twitch and the mild headaches. The scar was almost healed, at any rate.

“We’re so glad to hear it.” None of them looked it. “Now, usually someone…in your position,” the foreman continued, “wouldn’t want to try placement again for some time.” He paused to look down at the file before him. “If at all, if I may be so frank.”

The pause extended for longer than felt natural. Was he supposed to say something here? Justify his return? Jack picked at his fingernails, unsure of what was expected of him. “Bonded partners usually die together,” he said slowly, casting his gaze toward the immaculate marble tiled floor.

“Exactly,” another voice from the panel said. “This makes your case highly unusual.” He looked up to find that a silver-haired woman at the left end of the table had taken over. She seemed even less friendly than the first speaker. Her mouth was a tight line and there was so much tension carried in her jaw, Jack was surprised her teeth didn’t shatter. She radiated a jealousy he couldn’t comprehend and he was sure in that instant that she’d been in the system herself and had been passed over time and time again until it was too late. He blinked at her, not fully sure how he knew that. It wasn’t a guess — he knew it without a doubt.

The woman continued, “Obviously replacement would be best for the system. Your test scores are impeccable.” She gestured toward her own copy of the file and Jack hated the way the final word sounded so, _so_ spiteful. It was true that he tested well across the board, but it was those test scores that kept him bound to this place. Where was someone like him supposed to look for work? Was he supposed to fall back on that Hotel Management degree he’d earned a lifetime ago? The idea was laughable and it made his blood boil. 

Jack clenched his fists and made a good effort to control himself. Whatever nerves he’d been managing were gone, but rage wasn’t an adequate replacement. “Thank you,” he said evenly, trying not to sound like a parody of politeness, “I worked hard for those results.”

She hummed a reply and continued. “We are worried though that the…psychological toll might be too much for you to bear.”

Honestly, he couldn’t fathom what it was they wanted from him. There really hadn’t been a way to prepare for this interview; no one else still in the system had gone through this process. There was nothing else for it but to agree. “It’s a risk,” he said, meeting her gaze directly. Perhaps a show of confidence was all they needed. There was no way for Jack to return to a civilian life after three years with the Corps. He’d rather die than let them refuse him.

“There’s also the matter of your criminal record,” another panel member chimed in. “We are aware that you didn’t stand trial, but it is a rather dark spot on your otherwise shining record.”

At last: something Jack had prepared for. He straightened his back and let the practiced words flow forth. “I was unable to enter a plea myself and my proxy pled ‘no contest’ on my behalf. The investigation found in my favor.” He remembered waking up to a counselor sitting by his bedside, shuffling through papers. Jack had barely had a moment to be amazed he was still alive before he was informed that he was under investigation for murder. If they wanted to talk about a heavy psychological toll, that would be a good place to start. 

The panel silently exchanged looks, expressing with their eyes things Jack couldn’t begin to follow. Didn’t they believe him? Who in their right mind would kill their bonded partner when it was basically rubber-stamping their own death as well? He twitched again. “The compatibility matrix always makes the right match,” he said, “There must be someone suitable in the system.”

The initial speaker took over again. “The revisionary board agrees with you, Sean.” His tone was softer than it had any right to be, as if he was trying to comfort Jack. To reassure him that the Corps always knew best. Three months ago, Jack would have agreed outright, but the intervening time had made it apparent that they didn’t have all their chickens counted. “There is no legal or medical reason preventing you from applying for placement again. That said, we’re simply unsure as to why you feel it so necessary.”

And there it was. The elephant in the room. They’d known all along that he was as fit as he’d ever be. That his mental and physical test scores were ‘impeccable’. That he bore six out of eight total markers that the matrix analyzed, which made him compatible with over half the applicants in the system. It was just that no one could wrap their heads around why he’d want to go through it all again after nearly losing his life. Jack could have laughed in their faces. Some people were so _thick_. 

His posture relaxed noticeably. “Before my placement, I never knew what to do with my life,” he said. “I earned a stupid degree because it was easy, not because it was interesting. I didn’t have any goals. If it had been left up to me, I would have lived out my days in my parents’ cabin in the woods playing video games and achieving nothing.” He rubbed the scar on his neck again. Perhaps it was too personal, but this was his last and only chance to make it back in the program so it was go big or go home. Wherever home was anymore. “But then I took your tests and was matched-” his voice hitched and he cleared his throat to try again. “Matched and bonded to my— my partner. And we trained. And we excelled. Finally, I was good at something. _Good for something_. And if I have to leave today and never come back, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. This is my purpose; it’s where I’m useful.”

Jack’s words hung in the air and the foreman took a silent consensus. He tapped the pages of the file on the table and said, “You make a very compelling case, Mr. McLoughlin. Your profile will be added back into the database presently.” He extended a hand across the table and Jack stood to shake it, relief coursing through him. “Thank you for your openness and for your service. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say it’s a pleasure to have someone so vehement back with us.” 

Jack took a deep breath and glanced toward the woman who’d questioned him earlier. He wasn’t entirely sure the foreman spoke for her, but it didn’t matter what she thought anymore. For the first time in months, the future was clear. His path was laid out before him with relative certainty and he couldn’t be happier about it. Or, at least that’s what he’d thought. 

—————

Mark checked the time on his phone for the fifth time in half an hour and bounced a leg with nervous energy. It probably didn’t mean anything, getting that third call from the Corps. Plenty of people got phone interviews, after all. At least two people in his major at school and half his co-workers at the gym did. But then, how many people got the call to go in for physical tests? That number wasn’t available online, he’d looked. In fact, his laptop still had two tabs of forums open discussing the program and a third on the Corps’ main website. He leaned forward and closed the lid. It was a little too late to question exactly what he was getting himself into at this point.

He’d taken the tests along with everyone else when he graduated high school and, like everyone else, never expected anything to come of it. There was no clear number on just how many people were accepted to the prestigious program, but the percentage had to be minuscule. And now, here he was waiting for a car to pick him up whisk him away to Corps HQ for a battery of physical tests to determine if he was fit for placement. Was it even what he wanted? Mark leaned back into the couch and rubbed at his eyes. This was stupid, right? He had a decent job and was doing alright in college. Sure, he wasn’t as passionate about engineering as he’d been at the start, but that happened. You learn enough about anything and it loses a bit of the mystique. This was a chance for something new.

When he’d told his mother about the possibility of joining the Corps she hadn’t been thrilled. He was already living so far away from home and it wasn’t exactly the safest occupation. Far from it. The military had a higher body count, sure, but the Corps was basically special ops. She didn’t like the idea of her baby boy on a battlefield doing god knew what. “You’re not a soldier,” she’d said. At the time, he’d reassured her that he probably wouldn’t be selected, but now her words played on a loop in his mind. 

A knock at the door jolted him back into the moment and he rushed to answer it, sure he’d tell the knocker that no, he wasn’t interested after all. But when he opened the door to find a sharp-suited woman wearing an open and easy smile, the words died on his lips. “You must be Mark,” she said, extending a hand to be shaken. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dalia.” 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, trying to screw his head on straight and taking her hand. “You are…not what I expected.”

Dalia laughed lightly. “Not the first time I’ve gotten that, honestly,” she said. “Most people expect the Men In Black or something when they’re dealing with the Corps. But we’re regular people, just like you.” Mark looked down at himself and back to her. Saying they were just alike was not entirely correct. He hadn’t been sure how to dress and had landed on a decent pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her suit looked expertly tailored and freshly pressed. To say he was intimidated would be something of an understatement.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” he said, nervously running a hand through his messy hair. 

She clearly understood the implication and shook her head. “Trust me, you’re fine,” she said and gestured to the car waiting on the street. “We should get going though. The traffic promises to be a nightmare and you’ve got a full day ahead of yourself.” He gratefully followed her out to the black sedan (right in line with his expectations), and a million questions filled his head again. He took the passenger seat and kept his mouth shut until they were well on their way. He wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase the most pressing inquiry on his mind. “It’s okay,” Dalia said, “I can tell you’ve got questions. I can’t promise I can give you all the answers, but it’s going to be a long, quiet drive if you don’t ask them.”

“Are you…do you just work for the Corps or…” Mark fumbled over the words, trying desperately not to sound insensitive.

Dalia didn’t take her eyes from the highway ahead of them and filled in the blanks for him. “Do I work in the office or am I part of the Guard?” He nodded in response, glad that at least that burden was off his shoulders. “I’m on the recruitment team,” she answered casually. “I was the one who picked your profile out of the list the matrix provided and I’ve read all your transcripts. In fact,” she said, sending him a sly grin, “I probably know more about you than you do.”

Mark genuinely didn’t know how to take that. The personality tests had been fairly invasive, but he’d taken those years ago. How much could she possibly know? “Do you know my birthday?”

“June 28th, 2020,” she said without any hint of hesitation. “That makes you…a Cancer, which is my brother’s sign as well.” 

“Okay, wow.” Still, that was cursory information. Anyone might know that. He thought for a moment and asked, “What was my best subject in high school?”

“You were pretty decent in math,” Dalia replied before hesitating for a second. “But personally, I think your teachers in more creative areas undervalued your imagination. There was a Creative Writing essay in 10th grade that should have scored much higher than it did. A little zany, maybe, but I think you were robbed.” 

Mark was stunned into silence. He didn’t even remember taking a Creative Writing course, let alone writing a ‘zany’ essay. But with another moment of thought, there was a faint memory of an all-nighter pulled in front of his computer and harsh disappointment over the C plus at the top of the result. “That’s really kind of freaky,” he said. “And more than a little invasive. Why do you know that?”

“It’s something we look for,” Dalia replied casually. “Imagination is one of the points you scored highest on on the tests when you graduated. It’s an important quality and,” she continued more seriously, “if you don’t mind my being a little more invasive, I wonder why you never did anything with that. You’re a smart guy and a quick thinker, but sometimes you find the most roundabout ways to put two and two together to make four. Have you noticed that?”

Mark frowned slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I never really thought about it,” he replied, “but when you put it that way, yeah I guess.”

Dalia took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it on his shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy, but it is quite literally my job to think about these things. The computer can only do so much when it comes to the compatibility matrix. It gives us a starting point and the humans take over from there.” She took her hand back and shot him another kind smile. “75% of the matches I set up make it through training together, not to brag. I just mean to reassure you that it’s all in good faith.”

It was reassuring to some degree and Mark loosened up slightly. It wasn’t like she was a creepy stalker. Dalia was hired to do a job and, apparently, she did it rather well. He immediately wanted to start asking about numbers. How many people got to this point? How many pairs dropped out of training? But Dalia was already talking again. “Look, maybe it’s best if we don’t go through all this now,” she said. “I’m sure all your questions will be answered in time and by people with more of the facts than I have.” She pressed a button on the steering wheel and the radio came to life, playing a popular rock song. It was going to be a long ride after all.

—————

It was the first time in about two years Jack had been back to the Compound. It should have felt like a homecoming, but the moment he stepped off the bus he was filled with unease. He was given a room key in the main office where the guy at the desk had looked at him askance the entire duration of their conversation. He’d known who Jack was, of course, and it was clear he considered the man a freak. His eyes had barely left the wound at his throat that Jack had been trying so hard to cover with the neck of his oversized hoodie. And if that wasn’t grating enough, the walk through the courtyard to the barracks made everything so much worse.

Trainees gathered there to make the most of the little free time they were afforded and Jack couldn’t help but feel like he was living out a cliche ‘new guy in prison’ or ‘first lunch period transfer student’ role. Men and women gathered in groups of two or four, chatting at beat up tables or kicking a ball around or whatever it was that trainees did these days. But always in even numbers. Partners rarely leaving each others’ sides. Being the odd man out made him feel like a beacon.

He hoped that the looks would be the worst of it, but of course they weren’t. He stayed as cool as he could, treading the shortest path possible from the office to the barracks, but stopped dead in his tracks when someone yelled, “Hey, Killer! The fuck are you doing here?” Jack looked around, trying to spot whoever had opened their mouth. He wouldn’t have been able to pick them out if it wasn’t for a woman reaching over to smack her partner on the back of his head. She hissed something to him under her breath and Jack could only imagine the worst. 

He weighed his options quickly and carefully, just like his training had taught him. Ignore this asshole and leave himself open to future insults or knock the guy out and possibly start a scene. It was genuinely a tough call. As good as kicking some ass would feel, it probably wasn’t worth the risk. No one’s at peak form after weeks in the hospital, after all. Jack shook his head and kept walking, calling over his shoulder, “You’re not even worth my time, grunt.” Silence followed him the rest of the way to the barracks.

Once inside, he took the key out of his pocket to read the number on it. 404. Great, top floor of a walk-up. _Physical training starts today_ , he supposed. His first time around, Jack had roomed on the first floor and he was glad that he at least wouldn’t be near his old room. Too many memories he was trying to avoid. All the rooms looked basically the same anyway, just mirror images on opposite sides of a hallway. He didn’t expect the familiarity to get to him, but something about the musty smell of the building kicked things to the top of his mind that he hadn’t thought about in quite a while. 

The doors he passed had been repainted in the intervening years since his initial stay, but the stairwell was ever the same. On the third floor landing he stopped and looked over the railing toward the courtyard where the merriment had resumed in his absence. There had been a party the night before a group of Guard shipped out. Everyone was a little drunk and the music had been a little too loud so he’d escaped to this spot on his own to get some air. But his partner had found him. Of course he had. By that point, they could practically see through each other’s eyes. 

Jack rubbed at his eye, suddenly feeling an itch. “No,” he said out loud to no one but himself, “we’re not doing this now.” He turned his back on the spot, finished the climb, and didn’t stop moving until he was in front of a metal door bearing the number 404. Hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder, he unlocked and opened the door to take in a familiar sight. The room was pretty barren, scrubbed clean since its last occupants had vacated it. The main room held matching twin beds with stripped mattresses and a pile of folded sheets sitting neatly atop a nondescript dresser. Through an open door to the left was a small bathroom.

He tossed the backpack onto a bed where it landed with a soft thump. He didn’t have much in the way of possessions, having lived in a hotel room for the past two weeks on a stipend that barely covered meals, let alone luxuries. Not that he wanted much in the way of luxuries anyway. He threw himself onto the bed along with his bag and stared up at the ceiling, for the first time wondering if this had been the right call. Maybe there was another way— an easier way. Leave it to him to go out of his way to make life more difficult.

Fighting the urge to curl into a tight ball and not leave bed until dinner, or maybe even longer, Jack let out a long sigh. He could have gotten a job, a proper job in a shop or something. Found a hobby to keep his brain busy, maybe. But something told him that was an impossibility. This was the only place he could ever belong, if anyone would even bother giving him half a chance. It would definitely have been harder to start his life over at twenty-seven, especially carrying the scars the past few years had left.

“Why’d you have to leave me like that?” he asked, voice echoing in the empty space. “I was never supposed to come back here. Alone.” No one came to the Compound alone. They were all already paired off, bound together and ready to start a journey that was meant to last a lifetime. However long that wound up being. Maybe not as long as other lifetimes, but who cared about a shortened lifespan when you spent it with someone who understood you completely? He touched the spot on the back of his neck, knowing the device implanted there was dead as his partner. Would they replace it? Take the last connection he had to the man who was in so many ways a soulmate? Would a new person ever fit inside his head in quite the same way? Odds pointed to no.

But there was no use moping over it now, Jack decided, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Yep, the mattresses were just as uncomfortable as he remembered. Looking around the room again, his gaze caught on something he’d overlooked in the first pass. Beside the door was a small, black duffel bag bearing the initials SWM. His stomach turned. The bag was battered, but freshly cleaned and oh so familiar. His field kit. He sprung from the bed and lifted it with a swift motion, unzipping it on top of the dresser. Jack never thought he’d see this again, assuming he’d be issued a new one at ‘graduation’ like all the other grunts. And for the first time in a long time, a smile played across his lips.

Inside the bag was everything he’d taken on the last mission. He dug around, trying not to get lost in memories again, and twitched. His hands brushed so many familiar articles: a small toolkit, a length of twine, a torch, a small notebook, a metal water bottle, and… Jack took a step back, looking at the item in his hands. A matte black tactical knife in a leather sheath. He slowed his breathing and tried to keep calm as he swiped a thumb over the insignia stamped into the leather. A small, silver eye. “I can’t believe they didn’t take this,” he said under his breath. Maybe it was a new knife in the old sheath. In fact, it had to be. But when he freed the blade from its home, he knew it wasn’t true. Two sets of initials were scratched into the metal just above the hilt. 

Jack’s eyes swam with tears. There had to be some kind of mistake. No way should this be back in his possession. It was one thing to return the rest of the kit, but this? He twitched again and this time his breath hitched. Suddenly it was impossible to inhale. He tried to think rationally. This was a panic attack, nothing more. He’d had one in the hospital early on and the doctors had warned him that it probably wouldn’t be the last. But at the same time, this felt different. His chest tightened and his vision closed in, going dark around the edges. He stumbled across the floor to the bathroom, still gripping the knife tightly, unable to let it go. 

He supported himself on his forearms, leaning over the sink, afraid he might vomit. Hunched over, he was finally able to take a small and shaky breath. It was hell trying to force air into and out of his lungs, but Jack had been through hell before. Still, the breaths turned into short sobs. He felt so disconnected, like nothing he was feeling was real. As if he was standing outside himself and looking in, unable to get a handle on his thoughts. There was nothing in his mind but loud radio static, like an antique television with no reception. And suddenly the sobs became a new noise, unfamiliar and disquieting. A giggle erupted from his throat, high pitched and not…quite right somehow. 

But it didn’t stop. He couldn’t make it stop. And his body was moving of its own accord, straightening up to look in the small mirror on the wall. What he saw was not himself. It was, but it wasn’t. The man looking back at him wore a wide and manic grin. The wound at his neck he knew to be closed was in the reflection open and weeping blood again. His left eye had turned from a brilliant blue to a glowing, acid green. His heart skipped a beat when the reflection stopped laughing and seemed to blink in and out of existence briefly. This had to be a hallucination. A PTSD-induced, waking nightmare. “Oh no, Jackaboy,” he said in a voice too high-pitched to be his own, “I’m real as the knife in your hand.”

He looked down at the blade and felt himself raising it to inspect the inscription in the light. _I’m not doing this_ , he thought. _This isn’t me._ The clear, white light glinted off the scratched initials. SWM and KRT. “Oh, it’s you,” the voice from his throat said, “But it’s also me.” Jack felt a push in his mind from somewhere at the base of his skull and it was like his consciousness was pulled into the background as this warped reflection took to the forefront. The static grew louder and, though he tried so hard to make his mouth form words, they only resounded in his brain. _You’re not real. None of this is real. What the fuck are you?_

The knife flipped around in his hand with a practiced motion and he raised it to his own throat in a gruesome parody of the movements he’d executed months ago. “Give it a rest, would you? Wouldn’t want to go and hurt yourself. Oh wait,” he broke off to deliver another echoing giggle. “You’ve already done this before, haven’t you?” Jack could only watch as his reflection rolled its eyes, lowered the knife, and leaned in close to the mirror to inspect itself. He pulled a series of faces, as if trying to figure out just how the facial muscles worked together and ultimately leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “You may have made it out alive, Jackaboy,” he said with a sneer, “but don’t for a minute think you’re whole. I’m here now.”

Jack had trouble forming the thought, but managed a weak ‘ _Who are you?_ ’ as if whispered into a bottomless void. His reflection grinned that wicked grin once more, sending a wave of horror cascading over the small place Jack occupied. “I’m you, _idiot_.” If he could have managed it, Jack would have shaken his head. _You’re not me. This is nothing like me_. The reflection rolled their eyes once more. “Everything you’ve been repressing, everything you hide and fear? That’s part of you. And that’s what I am. Nega-Sean. Anti-you. And you better believe,” he said, leaning in toward the mirror once more to look himself square in the eye, “I’m not going _anywhere_.”


	2. ready for the future; ready for the world about to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait and let this simmer in my brain for at least a few days, but I woke up today thinking "Oh yeah, I could totally bang out another chapter by dawn!" So here we are I guess. Maybe don't expect me to keep up this pace, but there are some things I really want to get to Soon. This is gonna turn out longer than I anticipated.
> 
> Recommended listening includes anything by Purity Ring while reading because that's what was on loop while writing, as well as the album We Shall All Be Healed by the Mountain Goats because that's where all these titles are pulled from. Really, it's a very good album and my favorite band, so maybe give it a listen, yes?

Mark had traveled to the city often enough to keep from being disappointed. There was a time when Los Angeles stood as a shining beacon on the west coast, but those days had ended nearly two decades ago. Still, he looked with interest out the window at the passing buildings, many of which were starting to fall into disrepair. The state of decay lessened approaching the center of the urban sprawl. There was some new construction underway, building renovations here and there, but he knew it didn’t hold a candle to the city’s heyday. 

Pulling his gaze away from the scenery, he inspected his driver more closely. Mark wished he felt as calm as Dalia looked. This drive was probably just another day’s occurrence for her. All business. Something dropped in the pit of his stomach and he wondered if this could become his new normal, too. What would his life look like if he actually went through with this? The whole process was veiled in mystery from the public. All anyone seemed to know— or perhaps cared to know— was that the Corps was interested in protecting them. That’s why they were called Guards, after all.

The news was always quick to mention when Guards participated in matters of domestic security. Just last month they’d been involved in breaking up a terrorist organization on the east coast, but the details had been purposefully obscured. And, for the most part, the public had been satisfied to know that there were now that many fewer madmen on the loose. When it came to foreign affairs, however, they were mentioned far less. Mark wondered if that was because they had less overseas involvement or because those pursuits were fewer and further between. Somehow he doubted the latter was the case. 

Dalia turned the radio off and glanced at her passenger with a small look of passing concern. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head,” she said. “We’re only a few minutes away and it’s probably in your best interest to keep a little more calm. Don’t want to fail the stress test, you know?” She laughed to herself and to Mark it sounded slightly hollow. He desperately wanted to trust this woman, but suddenly his hackles were raised. Something felt off.

He took a deep breath and returned the laugh. “I guess you’re right,” he replied, sounding as casual as possible. “No use driving up my blood pressure before the tests even start.” Mark was glad, for once in his life, he’d taken those improv classes last year. Back then, they’d felt like just a fun waste of time to pick up some extra credits, but now they were coming in handy. “I bet I’m not gonna be the only nervous one there, though.”

“Prospects pretty much run the gamut,” Dalia replied without taking her eyes off the road. “You get the over-confident types, of course. Usually it’s bravado though, trying to cover up a case of nerves. There’s something to be said about having a naturally apprehensive response to new scenarios. Means you’re thinking and that’s important.” 

Mark nodded. If he was being honest with himself, he wished he was able to think a little less. ‘Naturally apprehensive’ was one thing, but ‘academically suspicious’ was an entirely different beast. But if Dalia wanted to believe that he was just a bit naive instead of as informed as possible and finding that lacking…that was fine by him. Analysis works both ways. 

She continued, unfazed by his silence. “We bring in all types. You never know what a person is capable until you put them to the test. A lot of prospects wind up surprising themselves when it really comes down to it.” Mark raised an eyebrow, unsure how to take that comment. Dalia certainly had a way of being as cryptic as possible while seeming to be an open book. “But whatever you’ve got on your mind, don’t worry too much about it,” she said. “Your personality matrix was interesting. I think you’ll wind up surprising yourself, too.” 

The more she spoke, the less Mark trusted her. The less he trusted this whole situation. It was their job to know as much about him as possible, but the thought of someone knowing him better than he did himself was unsettling, to say the least. But he didn’t get an opportunity to express his concerns before the car was coming to a stop in front of a tall building, seemingly made entirely of glass and light-colored stone. “Here we are,” Dalia exclaimed, suddenly all cheery excitement once more. She hopped out of the car and tossed to keys to someone waiting by the door before Mark even had the opportunity to take his seatbelt off, and was opening the passenger door with a gesture toward the revolving glass door of the building. He followed her through without another word, genuine curiosity taking over. Not everyone got to see the main Corps building from the inside. Hardly anyone, in fact.

Sunlight scattered through the lofty lobby of Corps Headquarters, but the tint of the glass left the space feeling cold and impersonal. “Welcome to Corps HQ,” Dalia said in an even tone as if welcoming to paradise. Mark’s eyes were wide as he took in the empty room. The white tile and walls were nearly dazzling, which was saying something since the sun was in full force just outside. That had felt like nothing by comparison. He was surprised to find no front desk with a helpful secretary, no seating for visitors to wait in. That skeptical voice inside him asked if maybe no visitors bothered to come here. 

Dalia was making a beeline for a bank of scanners framing the entry to a hallway beyond. “It’s a biometric system,” she called over her shoulder as he picked up his pace to follow her. “Your fingerprints were added as a guest, so just place your palm on the scanner and we can get going. We’re cutting it a little close.” Mark mimicked her movement, laying a hand to the cold glass of the scanner. It beeped and a green light illuminated, proclaiming him clear to enter. He…didn’t want to know how they’d been able to procure his fingerprints. Wasn’t that private information?

She led him to an elevator and palmed another scanner on the wall. “This is where I leave you, unfortunately. Just take the elevator to the fifth floor and follow the signs to the exam room with your name on it. Easy as pie.” The elevator door slid open to reveal a mirror-lined interior and Mark looked between it and her in near disbelief. “You’ll be fine, Mark,”” she said in her rote reassuring tone that did little to reassure him.

He nodded and said, “Thanks,” before stepping in and pressing the illuminated number five by the door. A chime sounded and the door slid closed, encasing him in mirrors. _Just another vaguely unsettling thing about this place_ , he thought, turning around to see an infinite series of Marks looking vaguely scruffy and more nervous than he’d hoped. He leaned in, tried to school the floof atop his head into something respectable and his expression into something more confident. It worked. Kind of. There was no fixing some things at this point. And before he knew it, the door was sliding open behind him. He hadn’t even felt the movement.

The hallway before him was a continuation of the sterile and dispassionate theme from below, no surprise. A sign on the wall opposite directed him to the right to find the exam rooms. It was disconcerting. Mark expected his footfalls to echo in the expanse of colorless tile and glass, but they were muffled. His sneakers didn’t even squeak when he tried to scuff the ground. It made him feel a need to be as silent as possible. The atmosphere nearly whispered “Hold your breath. Make no sound. You’re alone here.” He could almost believe that this was part of the test and the contrary part of his personality told him to speak. To shout. To make some noise and stir up some sign of life. For a moment, he even opened his mouth, but quickly snapped it shut again, deciding it would be a show of poor impulse control to yell an obscenity into the vacant air just to see if it would echo.

The way was lined with frosted glass doors without handles or hinges and only simple glass panels at chest height to show that they were more than decoration. He read names off the plaques beside them, seeking out his own. At last, he found it, a semi-permanent looking sign reading “M. Fischbach”. He stood before it, not entirely sure how to proceed. Was someone waiting within? Should he knock? An anxious feeling rose inside his chest, but he quashed it with a memory of Dalia’s words. If none of the moments preceding this were it, then this was the moment he had to decide whether to trust her —and by extension, the Corps— and simply not worry so much. It was difficult to turn off that ‘naturally apprehensive response’, but not impossible. He placed his hand on the scanner lightly and the door slid into the wall.

The room beyond was as expected. It reminded him a lot of the exam rooms in the hospital he’d stayed in a few years back. It was cold but more comfortable as it bore markers of actually being used by human beings. A padded exam table was pushed against a wall and cabinets lined the space opposite it. There was even a hint of color in the blue line that traced its way around the four walls. As he stepped in, the line glowed lightly, registering his presence. Mark stepped into the center of the room and looked around. He’d genuinely expected someone to be in here. A doctor or else someone to tell him what he was supposed to do. But there was no one.

The door behind him closed with a gentle swish and click and a voice resonated from…somewhere. “Welcome, Mr. Fischbach. Someone will be with you shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.” He couldn’t tell where it had come from and the pitch and tone gave him no clues about its owner, meaning it was probably digitally synthesized. There was nothing to do but hop up on the table and wait. 

—————

Jack groaned and rolled over in bed. The sheets twisted around him and he kicked at them groggily, trying to get comfortable again. It was no use, though. As soon as his brain switched on, it was impossible to drift back into unconsciousness. As he came to, thoughts trickled into his head. _I’m back at the compound in one of these awful beds._ He hadn’t thought he’d miss the cushy mattress of the hotel he’d been staying in, but at the moment, he’d give anything to be back there and have about five more minutes of precious sleep. _My head is killing me._ The moment he thought about it, he felt it for real. Pain pounded behind his eyes like he was waking up with a hangover. But he hadn’t been drinking last night, had he?

He thought back and it was a slow process. The bus ride to the expanse of land hidden behind high fences. The assholes in the office and courtyard. Finding his room. Finding… His eyes snapped open immediately, the realization of the last night’s events flooding over him like a bucket of cold water. He sat bolt upright and stared around the room. Down at the sheets and blankets that covered him. When had he made the bed? The last thing he remembered was standing in the bathroom, unable to control his own body, his own voice. His breath quickened. What had happened last night? The reflection in the mirror had called itself…Anti…something. _It was a hallucination. Just my brain making shit up._

And then what? Had he blacked out? Jack looked at the clock on the wall. Eight. Light pouring from the window told him it was morning. So what? He’d made the bed and crashed into it for more than fifteen hours? It didn’t feel likely. Where did those missing hours go? He shook his head and dragged a hand through his messy, brown bedhead, trying to calm down. What was it the doctors had said about PTSD? They’d mentioned panic attacks, but what about hallucinations and memory loss? He couldn’t remember and nearly laughed at the irony. This wasn’t good. Not one bit. He was supposed to start training today and that no doubt included a physical. They’d ask about his mental health and what was he supposed to say? It was better not to mention any of it and try to sort things out on his own. He made it back here, yes, but by the skin of his teeth. There was a zero percent chance he’d let whatever this was ruin things.

With a deep breath, he heaved himself out of bed, realizing he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and checked around the room for anything else out of place. There was nothing. The black duffel bag still sat open on the dresser and his backpack lay at the foot of his bed. Situation: normal. Or, as normal as it was going to be. He hesitated a moment, wondering what he’d find in the bathroom, but the allure of a nice, hot shower was just too tempting. Maybe he could scrub the weirdness of yesterday off his skin and steam the hard-to-grasp memory out of his mind. He opened the door and didn’t immediately see anything out of place in there, either. A glance in the mirror showed only his usual reflection, but it still sent a shudder through him and he twitched slightly as the image of a green, glowing eye swam up from the depth of memory.

He padded across the tiled floor, pulled back the plain white shower curtain and turned on the water. His soap was still packed in the backpack, so he backtracked and dug through his meager belongings till he found it. Upon returning to the bathroom, however, he dropped the small bottles on the floor, sending their contents splattering across the floor. His knife was sitting on the edge of the sink, angled tip pointed directly toward him. Careful not to slip, Jack stepped toward the sink once more and took the knife in hand, looking it over questioningly. It hadn’t been there before, right? No, he would have seen it. Put it away so he didn’t have to look at again. 

Curious more than anything, Jack turned the blade over, eyes raking it as if it would give him a clue as to why it was there. He hefted it in his hand and god but did it still feel like a natural extension of his arm. But it lent him no new information and, without a second thought, he turned on his heel and flung the blade end over end across the room. It stuck deep in the wall above his bed and that…that was more satisfying than he imagined. So much had changed in three months, but that probably never would. 

Jack mopped up the spilled soap with a towel and resigned himself to a rinse instead of a full shower. It wouldn’t be quite as good, but the steam filling the room was already calming his nerves. He stripped out of his day-old clothes and stepped into the stream of water. Instantly, he felt the tension he didn’t realize he’d been carrying ease its way out of his shoulders and back and whirlpool its way into the drain at his feet. _This has to be what heaven feels like_ , he thought with a relaxed sigh. Jack let his mind go blank and simply enjoyed the sensation for a moment. He rolled his head on his shoulders before ducking his face into the stream and scrubbing the hard set from his features.

It was like being in a different world for a time. Nothing mattered within the confines of the small space. Not the past three months or the time before. Not the new worries today was bound to bring or what hardships lay beyond the next twenty-four hours. Given the chance, Jack thought he might live and die in that shower. The thought of facing what was coming should perhaps have felt more exciting, but apprehension was settling in slowly. He sighed and turned the water off before he could let those thoughts run away with him.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom to cool, sending up a silent thanks to whoever might be listening that his headache had diminished to a dull throb. The mirror was fogged over and he wondered vaguely if it might be best to throw an old t-shirt over it so there was no possibility of falling into another anxiety-induced hallucination. Jack shook his head and closed the bathroom door behind him. _Don’t be stupid_ , he thought. _You’re fine. Just overthinking it._ He slid open a drawer in the dresser to find a set of clothes waiting for him. Corps branded sweats and a plain black shirt. Not ideal, but being back in a uniform would certainly be a comfort of a sort. He knew he needed to normalize and try to move on. This would be the first step.

When he sat on his bed to pull on a pair of new trainers, his gaze landed on the floor by the door. A piece of paper, folded over, had been slid through the gap at some point and he jumped up at once to retrieve it. He unfolded the page and looked over the insignia at the top of the sheet, proclaiming it as Corps letterhead. Official orders. “Report to the main office by no later than 0900 hours,” he read aloud. Jack’s eyes found the clock and his heart skipped. Five minutes to nine. He pulled his shoes on and left the room in a rush, not even questioning if he should bring anything along. Taking the stairs two at a time, he was out of breath after only two flights. By the time he was sprinting through the courtyard, a stitch had developed in his chest and the pain behind his eyes pulsed angrily.

The campus was fortunately deserted this time; he guessed everyone would be in the mess for breakfast at this point and wondered if he’d have time to grab at least a cup of coffee and an aspirin before getting down to the serious business of bringing his body back to peak form. A stern-faced man stood outside the entrance to the office, arms folded over his chest. He radiated an impatient energy and he barely batted an eye as Jack skidded to a stop before him. “You’re late, Sean,” he said, checking his watch.

“What?” Jack replied, bent double, hands on his knees, and struggling to heave air into and out of his lungs. “I only,” he wheezed, “Only got the message five minutes ago and I ran— I ran the whole way here.” He looked up at the man’s face, searching for some understanding. Finding none, he straightened, clutching his chest, and continued, “I was almost dead like three months ago. Cut me some slack.”

The man raised an eyebrow, letting his silence sink in for a lingering moment before breaking out a wide smile and clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Oh man,” he exclaimed, laughing, “You should have seen your face! I can’t believe you fell for that!” Jack waited in bewildered silence for his laughter to trail off. “I’m sorry,” the guy said, “It was impossible to resist. My name’s Tyler. I’m gonna be training with you until they find you a real partner.” He offered a genuine smile and a hand for Jack to shake.

Jack was less than amused by the whole situation, but if wondered if he wouldn’t have pulled a similar stunt if he was in Tyler’s shoes. He shook the man’s hand, wishing his grip was nearly as strong. Damn, all that time laid up had really done more of a number on him than he’d realized. “Call me Jack,” he said, “No one’s called me by my proper name in ages unless they were reading it from a file.” He’d convinced his doctors to use the name he preferred, but didn’t bother telling anyone at HQ. Of course, ‘Sean’ was a step up from ‘Killer’ or whatever other insults he had to look forward to. Still, it would be nice to be addressed as a friend again. “That was a real dick move,” he continued, taking his hand back. “I bet your partner loves your sense of humor.”

“Don’t have one, actually,” Tyler said, absently scratching the back of his head. “You probably don’t remember me, but we tested in on the same day. I never forget a face.” Jack shrugged and apologized. Testing in felt like a lifetime ago and so much had happened since then. “Yeah, I figured,” Tyler continued. "Don’t sweat it. I was all set to get chipped with this guy, but some family stuff happened a few days before that and I had to drop out.”

Jack nodded in understanding. It wasn’t really possible to back out after a certain stage. If whatever ‘family stuff’ happened a few days later, Tyler probably wouldn’t have even heard about it. It wasn’t like trainees got mail here. Or phone calls. The compound was basically a summer camp from hell. “What happened to the other guy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Tyler shrugged. “Got matched up with someone else. It’s not like we kept in touch after that. You know how it is. Better than I do, probably.” He wasn’t wrong on that account. A sad smile played on Jack’s lips as he remembered getting chipped the first time. One minute you and your partner were practically strangers and the next…well, you were more like one person in two separate bodies. That dread slipped back into his heart, making him wonder how he could go through that all over again, especially with so many memories of his partner licking at the edges of his mind. Would it be too much to bear after all? 

“You, uh, okay in there?” Tyler asked, snapping Jack’s attention back to the present moment. He’d barely realized he’d slipped away. It was so easy to get lost in his own head these days. “Kind of lost you for a minute.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Jack said, “no worries.” He did his best to pretend he was confident and wasn’t harboring an army of weighty doubts. And he must have done a decent job since Tyler didn’t call him out on the flimsiest facade in the world. It was probably for the best to try and keep the conversation moving, at any rate. “Tell me there’s time for coffee before we have to get started.” 

Tyler shook his head and adopted a sly grin. “The powers that be demanded a strict schedule if you’re gonna get back into shape,” he said, poking Jack in the arm. “And I can already tell I’ve got my work cut out for me, so we’re jogging to the gym…now!” With that, he took off at a pace Jack wasn’t entirely sure was slow enough to be jogging. He rolled his eyes, unsure why he’d expected mercy here of all places, and dashed to catch up. This wasn’t going to be easy or fun and he’d known it. But he couldn’t help but be grateful for the distraction.

—————

Mark didn’t have to wait too long before the door to his exam room slid open. A middle-aged man in khakis and a button-down walked in, drying his hands on a paper towel and sporting a stethoscope around his neck. He looked like a cartoon doctor if Mark had ever seen one. “Mark,” he said with a smile,” I’m Dr. Boyle. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mark noticed two things immediately. The first was that everyone involved in this company seemed to wear the same smile. It couldn’t be a fluke that both people he’d met tried so hard to radiate calm and warmth. There had to be someone in this building who was having a bad day or simply didn’t like their job. 

The second was that Dr. Boyle hadn’t offered a handshake and walked in a wide arc around where he was sitting to open a lower cabinet and tossed the paper towel in the trash can within. The man screamed germophobe and he couldn’t quite believe that he was, in fact, pleased to be meeting anyone. “Same to you,” Mark replied. He was tempted to offer a handshake, but kept that impulse locked down. No use giving the doctor a heart attack just to prove his suspicions correct.

“So,” the doctor said, “I’ll be conducting your preliminary physical and running a few simple tests today. Nothing to worry about.” _Why do people keep telling me that?_ He pulled a stool in wheels out from the corner, had a seat, and opened a slim drawer to retrieve a clipboard and pen to hand to Mark. “Before we begin, could I get your signature on a few consent forms? Nothing too invasive, you can be sure. Just that you agree to a run-of-the-mill physical and a few specialized tests.”

Mark took the clipboard and looked down at the pages, his expression growing tense. This wasn’t his first go around when it came to medical procedures, but he was hesitant to sign anything without reading it all first. “What kind of specialized tests?” he asked, flipping through the papers for some kind of clue. The text was tiny and the few words he could pick out were unfamiliar legal or medical babble. 

“There’s really no reason to be so suspicious,” Dr. Boyle said, still cheery as ever. “After the usual height, weight, blood pressure stuff we need a brain scan to set a baseline. Just the usual PET scan. Nothing invasive.” Mark glanced at the doctor warily. A PET scan didn’t fit the bill of ‘specialized tests’. He’d seen enough hospital dramas to know there was nothing ‘specialized’ about it. “Okay,” the doctor continued, “there’s also a cerebral activity test the Corps holds patents for. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure what it’s for. I don’t analyze the results, I only administer it. But like I said, not in the least invasive.”

Mark scanned the man’s expression looking for any signs of deception but found nothing. It really didn’t sound so bad and if he made it through this whole ordeal, weren’t they going to get a lot more invasive anyway? He tapped the pen against the clipboard a few times before deciding to throw caution to the wind and signing his name on every highlighted line. When he handed it back, the doctor took it cautiously and set it as far away from himself as possible. _Yep, total germophobe_.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business.” The physical went exactly as Mark expected and Dr. Boyle had detailed. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. A cold stethoscope pressed against his chest and back. A few questions when it came to the scars on his torso. Mark explained his medical history as if it wasn’t all typed out in his file, probably in more detail than he knew himself. That seemed to be the running theme. 

Once all of the familiar work was out of the way, the doctor pulled out a glass screen and directed Mark to sit in the stool he vacated in front of it. He attached small electrodes to his temples, the wires of which ran into a nondescript metal box. _Okay_ , Mark thought, _this is where things get weird_. “Relax,” Dr. Boyle said, flipping a switch on the screen. “Just watch the screen and let your mind go where it will. You’re going to see a series of images, but it’s going to go by pretty fast and you might not be able to focus on some of them. That’s okay. Don’t get too hung up trying to figure out what you’re seeing and just let your brain take in the information.”

Mark looked at him, confused. But the doctor just pointed back at the screen. Apparently, that was all the information he was going to receive on the subject. The screen lit up a stark white at first and started to cycle through colors slowly, one hue melting into the next. It was almost soothing in a weird way, especially since he’d been exposed to almost no color at all since setting foot in the building. Before he realized it, the picture seemed to zoom out and coalesced into actual images. 

At first, he was shown pictures of people wearing different expressions. The images started to flip faster and faster until Mark was no longer sure entirely what he was seeing. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep up and failing. It was disorienting and he felt a little dizzy. A little nauseous. He’d never been gladder to have a relatively strong stomach and not have epilepsy. The flashing would definitely have been seizure-inducing. What images he could pick out seemed completely normal, but for the speed at which they appeared before him. Animals and buildings. Flowers and words he couldn’t make out.

When it finally slowed back down, after what felt like a few too many minutes in Mark’s opinion, the pictures turned back into a series of people again and then, at last, the slowly transitioning colors. The screen eventually faded back to white and the doctor flipped it off once more. Mark rubbed at his eyes, feeling them start to water. Whatever information was gleaned from that, he hoped it made more sense to whoever analyzing it than it did to him. He couldn’t see the point of recording brain activity while intentionally giving him the spins, but hey at least the worst was over.

“I think you’re the first person I’ve seen today that didn’t actually puke halfway through that,” Dr. Boyle said, a note of actual happiness in his voice. Mark nodded a reply, a little too afraid to open his mouth lest he keep up the trend. “And that’s it. We’re all done here.” He packed things up and clapped his hands together with an air of finality. “Thanks for being so patient with all this. I know it’s a lot to handle.” 

_You can say that again_ , Mark thought, standing on uneasy legs. He felt like he was stepping off a boat an onto solid ground, the way the floor seemed to roll up to meet him. A stuttering step had him gripping the edge of the exam table to regain his balance. “So, what now?” he asked the doctor. All he felt like doing was sitting very still until the feeling of vertigo passed, but somehow he didn’t think that was on the horizon.

“There’s a waiting room at the end of the hall where everyone else testing in today is gathered,” the man said. The door slid open as he approached it and he pointed left down the hall. “When you’re ready, make your way there. Someone from Recruitment is going to have a talk with you all.” He paused just outside the door, turned back and added simply, “I think there are snacks.” Absolutely nothing sounded less enticing at that moment than _snacks_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on a [moodboard](https://www.pinterest.com/diaphonie/everyones-a-monster/) for this story and possibly a playlist somewhere down the line. In case anyone is interested in such things.
> 
> If you'd like, leave a comment with what you liked/didn't like, what you'd like to see more/less of, or just any old thing that pops into your brain. It's more appreciated than you know!
> 
> I promise promise promise I'll get to the goods in the next chapter. Pinky swear. I wasn't in love with this one, but the next? Oh, the Next.


End file.
